this is what i do when i don’t want to write my essays.
Terminal
I waited for you
in the airport
with a $12
cheap vodka
martini & olive
at a quarter after noon.
“We’ll talk when I get back”
you’d said vaguely
and I haven’t slept since.
*
We met once
in a place like this
pretending
we were strangers.
“Nice to meet you”
I’d said, and took you home
but you already knew
where I lived.
*
I drove you
to the airport
words springing
from my tongue
but crashing
into my teeth
in my closed mouth
like a bird
against a window.
*
You must’ve seen it
my words kicking
inside my cheeks
like a cat in a sack.
So you said again
“When I get back.”
*
But after many hours
and four empty glasses,
I heard the words
you never said
and knew you
wouldn’t be back.
ASK ME SOMETHING.
anon is on.
This semester is killing me.
Advanced poetry and nonfiction writing are amazing but are also death. I’m one of the very few non grad students. My brain has been melting. I’ll post something decent soon. In the meantime, messages would be appreciated. Questions will be answered. Anon is on.
25
(Source: synodik, via 4stronauts-deactivated20120228)
Rigor Mortus
He murdered me
ruthlessly
with hardened words
and blackened, marble eyes.
I am not dead.
My body still moves;
it shakes and breathes
barely.
But my soul broke
down and lost it’s battle.
Bruised and scared,
it crawled to the depths
of my cavernous mind
and locked itself away,
leaving my body
a spectral incubator
for sorrow and regret.
A Friend and Father.
I think about his laugh a lot. That iconic, solitary “HA!” Booming and boisterous, yet concise and short-lived.
He died when he was only 63, and his daughter had only just turned 20.
This is the story of my best friend’s father; a man whom she loved, even when she wanted so much to despise him.
…
